Echoes In Eternity 001 (Patreon)

“Do you believe…in destiny?”

She was…drifting. She was weightless, foundationless, feeling nothing but cold and yet burning alive. Her soul cried out, all the things that she had never said or done or felt or known an agonizing regret, but in the face of all of it -and there was so very much of it- she felt…satisfaction. Not contentment, not peace, no, but she felt the pride of knowing that she had done the right thing in her last moments. She had given up her life to save those that she had loved and protect the lives of innocents, and though she had once dreamed of a long, successful and -someday- peaceful life, dying for such a cause was a greater thing still. Truly, the only thing she regretted about her death itself was that she would no longer be there. For Jaune, For Nora and Ren. For Ruby and Yang and all of her other friends. Fighting beside them, protecting them, helping them, supporting them as they worked together to drive back the darkness that had for generations tried to destroy their world.

Because that, more than anything else in the world, was the dream of Pyrrha Nikos, the Invincible Girl. Not to be the tournament champion, winning duel after duel after duel for the pleasure of a watching crowd, untouchable and unreachable, no. But to be Pyrrha Nikos the Huntress, protecting those that she loved and those that she had never even met from being consumed by the evil that was the Grimm. To make her mark not through celebrity endorsements or advertising deals or carefully curated interviews and commercials delivered through plastic faces and brittle smiles…but instead through the smaller, simpler, and infinitely more powerful deeds of the everyday.

A simple and meaningful life, one that would have her remembered long after her death not for any records she’d set or awards that she’d one, but because her name would be on the lips of friends and family and those that she’d helped.

But now, all of that was lost to her, stolen away by the base and cruel treachery of people that had been classmates, could even have been friends had they not been evil to the core.

Had they not killed her.

Instead, she was…falling away into a void, dying, burning from the inside out. Agonizingly, maddeningly slow and yet so very fast. She…she didn’t want to go. She didn’t want it to be over, she wasn’t ready for it to be over. She wanted more. To do more, to be more, to have more, to love more. Gods, even to lose more, for what was life and love without loss and hardship? Yet, there was no more to be had. She’d known that from the moment Cinder’s flaming arrow had pierced her chest that nothing could save her, nothing that would let her recover from the injury she’d just received. She knew, somehow, that she was…gone. There wasn’t a body to heal, or even to bury. She was just ashes now, ashes to mourn as they drifted away on the evening breeze.

It was futile, perhaps, and she didn’t even know how it was possible, but in this moment she screamed. She poured all of the pain she felt at that thought, all of the hopes and dreams and wants that had never and would never be fulfilled into a great scream as she poured out one defiant statement into the void of death: that it might take her one way or the other, she would not go silently with her head bowed in defeat. She would not go gently into the night, but would rage. Rage and rage and rage against the dying of her light.

“Gently and softly, brave one. There is no enemy here, only a friend.” a voice, almost amused, it’s timbre otherwise gentle, warm, and loving. Motherly, were she to assign a single word, and her eyes flew open as her body, somehow, shot upright and looked around. She was sitting -still on nothing- in a vast, star-filled expanse that stretched farther than she could comprehend, and as she rose unsteadily to her feet she could feel the platform of nothingness that she had been lying on crumble away to leave her standing ‘on’ the stars themselves.

Then she turned in the direction that the voice had come from, and her eyes widened even as her breath caught in her throat, for drifting there in the nothingness was something. An enormous, unfathomably colossal blue-white crystal, shining brightly from whing, surrounded by at least a dozen other, smaller crystals that were slowly orbiting it, moons to a world, and between she and they stood a woman that seemed her mother’s age. A tall and beautiful, almost unnaturally so, woman, with long silver-white hair and wearing a long, pure-white robe with an elegant half-mask around her neck. Though it wasn’t her beauty or her hair nor even her robe and mask that caught Pyrrha’s attention most strongly.

It was her eyes. Her entrancing, starburst-patterned eyes of the same shade of bright, shimmering, crystalline white-blue as the floating titans behind her.

“Who…who are you?” she breathed, the words a whisper on a non-existent wind, and the woman’s smile somehow grew bother warmer and softer than it had already been

“I’m known by many names now, and once I was known by others. Some more cherished than others. But my truest name, the one I held since before the moment of my birth, was Venat. And you, my brave little spark, must be Pyrrha.” she responded, and Pyrrha frowned, retreating half a step in surprise, even as she felt the woman’s words resonate through the world around her, like an echo that rolled and roiled and seemed to come from everything everywhere.

“I…how do you know my name? Where am I, where is all of,” she waved her hands helplessly to the stars around her. “this? I was…I’m dead, so how…?”

“Yes, you are, dear one. But a soul such as yours does not pass into the void unnoticed, even without the great cry you raised moments ago. Your death echoed like a storm through the Aetherial Sea, your soul burning as bright as any star, pure and shining. To miss it’s radiance…impossible, and when I saw it I was intrigued. So I sought you out, found you, brought you here into my realm, all to ask you a question: if you had the strength to take one more step, would you do it? If you had the power to save one more life, would you take up your weapons once again? If it meant saving the innocent from those in the service of evil, would you take a life? If it meant saving the future, would you condemn the past?”

As she spoke, the world around them shifted, filling with visions.

A beautiful world, a planet full of life, consumed by disaster. Entire continents leveled by colossal, never-ending storms. Volcanoes leaving ash clouds that choked out the sun and drowned it in fire and lightning. A drought, so vast and unforgiving that forests the size of entire kingdoms became deserts devoid of all but the hardiest of life. An empire, filled with hubris, trapping a great dragon-god in a false moon and harvesting it’s life for power, power so far beyond their means to control that the world itself broke open and mountains turned to dust. Ice and snow burying much of what little life remained, leaving those that survived to huddle around paltry fires that burned frozen branches. A flood of unimaginable size and depth, leaving only those that called the mountains home -or those skilled with seamanship- to survive. And finally, most recently -and how did she know that?-, the self-same dragon that was imprisoned by one empire was freed by another to lay waste to thousands.

A world of people, trying their best to survive as calamity after calamity consumed them. Scrabbling in the dirt, raising each other up in defiance of a world that seemed hell-bent on laying them low, driving back the darkness of man and beast, and a part of Pyrrha’s soul sang with kinship at the sight. These people were not so different from those that she had left behind, these people were no less deserving of hopes and dreams and lives than the people of Remnant had been, and her decision was made in an instant. The only decision that she could make.

“Yes…yes, I would.”

Venat’s face lit up, turning from warm and motherly to being filled with such brilliant, radiant joy that Pyrrha had to blush and look slightly aside, unused as she was to seeing someone so beautiful, never mind showing such pure, powerful emotion on top of it all. And then she was screaming as agony, inexplicable and incomparable, tore through her. Consumed her. She collapsed to her knees, then her side, writhing as her nerves burned, her heart-beat pounding deafeningly in her ears as her eyes stung and her teeth ached.

“Pyrrha!” Venat cried out from above her, and in a moment she was cradled in the older woman’s lap, held close as gentle fingers brushed slick locks out of a suddenly sweat-stained face. White-blue eyes skated over her body, shining brighter still than they had been before, and Venat scowled darkly for a moment before meeting Pyrrha’s eyes. “I can save you, dear one, and give you a new life, but…your soul is too damaged from what you have endured, from the method of your death and the distance you have come to bring you here. You are no longer whole, and so saving you will demand that you change.”

“H-how?” she managed to whine out the word, even as pain wracked her body again, and Venat hesitated for a heartbeat before reaching out with her free hand, pulling a swirling orb -laced with black and violet and a deep, seething red- out of the nothingness around them.

“Your soul is a fragment of what it once was, too damaged to exist any longer on it’s own, unable to even enter the cycle of reincarnation. This soul, too, is a fragment. Too small, too damaged, for me to rebind it to the greater whole by itself. I’ve preserved it, these many long years, out of love. I can combine it with you, and you with it. Then take your sum and combine you with the greater part of this fragment’s whole. You will not just be Pyrrha Nikos, anymore and ever again.” Venat told her, speaking quickly, before flinching as Pyrrha’s back arched and a scream tore itself from her throat, the pain intensifying yet again. “I cannot explain everything now, you have not the time left! Do you wish for your existence to end, or do you wish to change, to become more and fight on? You must choose quickly!”

Be…be more than Pyrrha? The formerly-living champion understood the implications of what Venat was saying: her soul was falling apart, and she would cease to exist unless she agreed to become merged with someone else. She wouldn’t be herself any longer, not entirely, and though her potential-savior’s words certainly seemed to imply she wouldn’t be erased, it was still a daunting prospect. So the question was, did she want everything that she was to become nothing, like she never existed to begin with, or did she want to stick with her original answer and fight on?

It was a choice that was no choice at all.

“D-do it! I can’t give up now!” she snarled the words, pain driving courtesy entirely out of her, and Venat nodded.

“Good girl. You’ve a good heart, Pyrrha. Well-deserving of my beloved Aphrodite’s legacy, and her soul.” she praised, pressing a kiss to Pyrrha’s damp forehead even as the orb-bearing hand pressed between her breasts -pressed where Cinder’s arrow had pierced her- and sent the orb-of-soul sinking into her chest.

Hear.

The word thundered through her consciousness, soft and strong like a storm gathering on the horizon. It carried with it a purpose, a calling, a duty, and the desire -drive- to fulfill it.

Feel.

Her heart burned with a searing heat, hot enough that the flames Cinder murdered her with might as well have been small candles by comparison, but she felt no point. No, she felt energy, vitality, pouring into her body from beyond. She felt, inexplicably, more whole than she had ever felt, which was a strange thing, given that she had never felt broken. How can you feel complete without first having realized that you were missing something in the first place, she wondered? She felt better than she ever had, even when she had lived on Remnant and possessed the whole of her original soul.

Think.

“You will be the wandering star that heralds the dawn, bringing Light back to a shadowed world. Stay strong, keep the faith, hold fast to your heart, and we’ll soon see one another again." Venat praised and promised as her vision began to blur. Her limbs were lead, her lips paralyzed, but the gain was gone, and so as the crystal-and-star filled sky turned to darkness, she felt not fear…but hope.

Then she awoke with a startled gasp. She felt her lungs expand and contract, heard the sounds of the world around her, felt cool grass beneath and sun-drenched sky above. Reached up to stare at hands that had begun to shake, touched a face that had started to turn wet with tears, cradling a head that seemed filled with memories that were both hers and utterly foreign, and she began to laugh. The laugh of someone who was not broken, but frayed. The laugh of someone who had died, and now lived again. The laugh of someone who felt hopelessly out of their depth, but couldn’t quench the fire in their heart that was pushing them forward.

So the girl that had been Pyrrha Nikos of Remnant wept, lying there in the grass. Wept until the exhaustion she felt, body and soul alike, dragged her back into unconsciousness.

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Kebbe of the Vulture Tribe of the Seekers of the Sun, known to most of Eorzea as V’kebbe and to the territories of La Noscea as V’kebbe the Stray -and to only the slightest handful as a prominent member of the Rogue’s Guild- wasn’t in a particularly good mood. Which was certainly unusual, given her default tenor and bearing under the vast majority of circumstances could only be described as irreverent and playful, including when she was in the middle of a fight for her life. So long as she had her stabbers and her tongue could wag as she pleased, Kebbe was a happy girl.

The problem was that Kebbe didn’t have her stabbers, because she wasn’t allowed to have her stabbers. Because, after all, the rest of the ‘Dutiful Sisters of the Edelweiss’ had long ago decided -accurately, as it happened- that she was the best infiltrator and espionage expert that they had, and so had decided that she was going to dress up like a common moll and stroll around with a trade caravan in the hopes that she would spot something useful to the Rogues in the matter of hunting down the Serpent Reavers.

So now the red-orange haired miqo’te was wearing a simple -uncomfortable, restricting, not particularly flattering- linen dress, sitting on the back of a wagon full of crates, being quite literally carted back and forth across Western La Noscea, waiting for something useful to happen.

At least she could entertain herself by flirting with the dumb, young, brawny coves fresh off of the farm that had little idea of how to talk to a pretty lass and would have even less of an idea of what to do with her if they actually managed to catch her eye. Probably thought that their awkward fumblings with the farmgirls that were as clueless as they were made them experienced in pleasure. Kebbe knew better than that, and so would this lot, if they ever had the chance to find out for themselves.

Not from her, of course. She had standards, and being the training dummy for the inexperienced certainly didn’t match them. Someone would eventually help them figure it out, whether out of pity, for coin, or simply because they actually wanted the boys for some reason. None of which would be her problem, of course, and as she let another sly witticism flicker off her tongue to set them chortling as she let her mind drift back to her mission.

The Serpent Reavers. She, like most, had thought they had been wiped out -or, at the very least, so heavily crippled that they had disbanded and been scattered to the winds- during the Fall of Dalamud at Carteneau. Apparently, they’d actually scuttled off to hide somewhere like the cowardly little rats that they were and rebuilt their numbers, because coves and motts in their colors had been spotted raiding settlements all along the coast, stealing people and product alike and vanishing. What’s more, they were doing it from land and sea both, and that made tracking them down all the harder, because they either had multiple stop-holes or one really, really well-hidden one that had easy access to both terrains.

Places like that were few and far between, and the best guess of her lot was that it lay somewhere here in the west. There wasn’t much in the way of people in these parts, thanks to the Calamity and the constant attacks by the bloody, tides-be-damned fish-men, and what little strength the Maelstrom had been able to deploy here were more-or-less trapped defending the Tidegates from those self-same assaults. That made it an ideal place to hide out, at least at first blush, and Kebbe had agreed to help search the area in spite of some mild doubts.

Such as the oh-so-minor idea of where the bloody pirates could tuck themselves away that wouldn’t get them butchered by the Sahagin.

But investigating, finding answers, was the whole reason that she was here, so she’d keep her mouth shut and her tongue still while she marched the march of a good and dutiful soldier. Besides, this had been bloody boring so far. They were halfway to Aleport from the Tidegates already, and she hadn’t seen a single bloody thing of importance. Just grassy hills, rocky cliffs, and roaming beasties. By Llymlaen’s frigid cunt, if this turned out to be an entirely fruitless trip, she’d kick Jacke right in the bollocks and tell him that he could wander around the bloody fields dressed like a daft nobody. See how clever he thought he was then, eh?

Sighing softly to herself, and ignoring the flurry of questions from her admirers as they jokeyed to cure what it was that ailed her -which they couldn’t, but she supposed it was sweet of them to try, even if the better part of the cause was because they wanted to climb betwixt her thighs- she cast her gaze west towards the sea, posting her chin on a fist as she looked at the scrub and the grass. Really, besides that patch of red, there wasn’t a bit of variation to see. That was the problem with these outer areas of the territories, they were so sparse that she couldn’t even enjoy the scenery all that much, and…

She frowned, lifting her head free again and craning her neck for a better look. That patch of red didn’t look much like any plant she recognized, too long and stringy, and the way it was moving in the breeze left aside any possibility it was something particularly solid, not to mention that it was entirely the wrong shade for blood, so what could it be? Humming curiously and sensing an opportunity to alleviate the dull boredom -even if only for a few moments- with some sort of activity, she pushed herself off of the cart and dropped to the ground lightly, skipping towards the strange red thing, waving off the words of the rest of the caravan. It wasn’t as if it was moving so quickly that she wouldn’t be able to catch up easily, so there was hardly any real danger of her being left behind. And the grass certainly lacked the height to hide some sort of beast or enterprising bandit!

She slammed to a halt, eyes widening and ears flattening against her skull with a bristling tail, as she saw just what that patch of red was: the hair -and ears!- of a young vieran woman. A very beautiful, very naked, young woman, that was lying on her side, wearing only a small silver-and-ruby pendant shaped like a cluster of roses.

“Oi! Oi! I need a hand over here! I’ve got an unconscious mott! Bring me a blanket, she’s naked!” she shouted over her shoulder in the direction of the caravan, dropping to her knees and rolling the other girl over onto her back, only to reel back with a gasp at the sight of the gruesome scar. The Scar, perhaps, she thought absently as she shook her head and started checking for a pulse with fingers that -in spite of all she had seen and done with her life- shook slightly. It marred her sternum between her breasts, that scar, and she had seen enough arrow wounds and burns to recognize something that was both when she saw it. Though she couldn’t imagine what arrow could leave a wound nearly two ilms in length, nor one that could leave a fulm-long burn mark such as this behind. Gods, she couldn’t imagine someone surviving it, either, and survive it the girl somehow had. Survived whatever had left her naked on the side of the road as well, and her pulse was strong still. And…were those tear tracks, staining her cheeks?

Kebbe’s eyes darkened, pupils slitting harshly, and she spread the girl’s legs enough to get a proper look between them before sighing softly in relief. Not raped and dumped, then, judging by the frankly pristine state of her cunt. No bruises or other marks of recent violence either, or at least none that she could see as she went back to inspecting the rest of her carefully. Just lightly-tanned skin adorned with no small amount of freckles and a scattering of scars -of varying severity, though none so heart-stopping as The Scar- that spoke of a lifetime of fighting. In fact, were it not for the tear-tracks and complete nudity -along with the fact that there wasn’t a scrap of clothing to be found near her- Kebbe would have simply assumed that a particularly beautiful adventurer near enough her own age was taking a sun-soaked nap in the sea breeze.

Help finally arrived at that, and she had to punch more than a couple of louts in the thighs to get their attention off of the mysterious lass in front of them -or, more accurately, her full breasts and display of naturally red hair- long enough for her to bundle the girl up in a large blanket and get her carried back to one of the carts. Whatever was wrong with her, if anything, the healers in Aleport or Limsa itself would be able to figure it out. Twas only a few more malms, after all, and who knew? Maybe the girl would wake up before they got there and just tell them outright what had happened. Till then, there was no use speculating, and so she turned her focus from her latest mystery back to the one that had brought her here to begin with.

Or, at least, that had been her intention.

In truth, she found her attention, mental and physical alike, straying back to her new wagon-mate more often than it was on anything else. And despite what her mates back at the ‘convent’ would have said, it wasn’t just because she was a pretty thing to pay attention to. She was, obviously, a very pretty mot indeed. One of the prettiest that Kebbe had ever seen, and she’d seen a lot of pretty ones. Herself included. But she’d never been one to find herself addled just because something pleasant to look at crossed her glaziers, and it wasn’t as if she found the girl’s personality interesting enough to keep her attention either, given that they’d never spoken! Hells, she was still unconscious, they couldn’t speak!

Yet, somehow, her attention couldn’t stray off of her for long. It was strange, and she would assume some sort of sorcery if not for the fact that it was patently absurd as a thought. Not least because casting spells was somewhat difficult to do when one wasn’t conscious and aware that there were people around you to cast spells on. Yet the lack of explanation, while glad to know that she hadn’t had her head meddled with, left her distracted and mentally adrift

All of which combined meant that, quite unfortunately, she wasn’t paying sufficient attention to her surroundings. Which is why she didn’t notice one of the ‘dumb, brawny coves’ that had been nattering away at her all trip had scampered off behind a hill for several minutes before rejoining the caravan, an anxious and shifty look in his eyes as he reappeared, tucking a small shell into one of his trouser pockets. Something that would have caught her attention without a doubt, had she not been distracted.

But it certainly caught her attention when shouts of alarm went up all along the wagon train, as thirty Serpent Reavers came swarming out of their hiding places to descend on the walking travelers. Kebbe’s head shot up, eyes widening at the sight of them, and her hands instinctively went to daggers that weren’t actually there as she tried to rise…only to freeze as she found a pistol aimed squarely at her at near enough point-blank range, both hammers cocked.

“Sorry kitten, nothing personal.” the cove chuckled, the expression on his face one a leer of dark, hungry anticipation as he eyed her. “But you’ve strayed into Reaver territory, and that means any valuables you’ve got belong to us. Including your cunt and your arse. Though they’ll probably be a mite less valuable once we’ve had our fun. Still, someone will be sure to buy you, unless the cap’n decides to keep you around. Here’s hoping.” his eyes flickered over to the sleeping redhead. “Pity about the girl, I’d like to play with her, but he’s sure to keep a beauty like that for hisself. Viera are rare, pretty fire-tops even more so. Now step off of the wagon, nice and easy.”

Kebbe's tail twitched with agitation as she calculated her odds. No daggers, at least thirty armed and armored pirates against, what, ten merchants and farmhands, with half a dozen already-disarmed guards? And a pistol aimed directly at her face, she couldn’t forget that part. Not ideal circumstances, even for someone of her talents. She’d have to let things play out for now.

"Alright, alright," she said with a calm that she didn’t entirely feel, raising her hands slowly and stepping down from the wagon. Her eyes darted around, taking note of each Reaver's position and their weapons, searching for any potential advantage, any way to turn the tables. An old and ingrained habit, though it was one that she didn’t expect would do her very much good this time around. "No need to get your smallclothes in a twist. And by the Twelve, keep your bloody famblers off that trigger before you bump it."

The formerly-disguised pirate merely smirked at her in amusement, holding her there while his fellows quickly set about stripping the rest of the caravan of valuables and picking out the prettiest motts to take back to their hideaway. More people to try and rescue for her people, when they inevitably descended on this territory in their full numbers, once word got back to them about this attack and her disappearance. She didn’t doubt that the Reavers would be caught, no one escaped the Rogue’s Guild forever.

The only real question was what state she and the rest of their prisoners would be in when it happened.

The wagon lurched suddenly as more pirates joined the two of them, rough hands tugging away the blanket to leave the still unconscious redhead naked to the world again, and Kebbe’s jaw clenched at some of the laughing comments the men -and women, damn their eyes, the cunts- made as they manhandled her out of the wagon with little in the way of care.

“The cap’n will be wanting this one for himself, me thinks, so keep your cocks to yourselves, boys.” one of the women, a Hellsguard, grunted after a moment of inspection, before glancing over at V’kebbe herself. “Bring that one along too. Redheads are rare, and if we can’t sell the sleepy one, we can get a pretty coin for the cat instead. If you’re lucky, the captain might let you take a turn once we’re back. Put her out and get her packaged.”

“Aye, aye,” the group chorused together, two of the larger men -roegadyn both, because of course they were- moving towards her with hands outstretched, while a hyuran cove followed after them, carefully pouring chloroform onto a handkerchief as he walked. She didn’t try to struggle, knowing it was pointless and well aware of what might happen if she accidentally ingested some of the foul-smelling chemical in the attempt. Dying in a fight or an escape attempt was one thing, but dying of poison that she’d inhaled was entirely another.

Besides, as unideal as this situation was, she might be able to turn it to her favor. They wouldn’t rape her in her sleep, this sort wouldn’t get what they were looking for like that, and they’d never find her secret stash of tools. After all, she thought to herself, resisting the urge to smirk as the cloth was tied around her face and her head began to swim, nobody would search the cunt of a farmgirl for a lockpick’s tools.

If she got out of this alive, she’d never let Jacke forget it either. That would…show him…to accuse her…of having…a…f-fetish…

The last thing she was aware of was being swung up onto someone’s shoulder, chatter and laughter echoing around her as the Reavers moved out with their spoils in hand.